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D jufeeroncmy Brown, 

A REAL ESTATE TRANSAGTION. 

BY 

CHARLES B. TURRILL, 


Author “California Notes,” Etc. 


1SSS. 


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7/9 7 


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Deuteronomy Brown, 

A REAL ESTATE TRANSACTION. 

BY — 

CHARLES B. TURRILL, 

Author “California Notes,” Etc. 


1888 . 


COPYRIGHT 1888 


By CHARLES B. TURRILL. 


ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. 


Deuteronomy Brown. 


A REAL ESTATE TRANSACTION. 


Being of a retiring disposition it is extremely unpleas- 
ant to mention myself as frequently as will be impera- 
tive in giving a faithful account of the remarkable man, 
whose name heads this sketch. But as was wisely said 
by a noted statesman, when running for office, “It is 
sometimes necessary to exalt yourself in order to elevate 
the people.” 

Reared in a quiet New England village, my early life 
ran as quiet as the mill-pond in which I drowned cats. 
The prospects of rapidly acquired fortune lured me 
away from the ancestral kitchen stove, and the aforesaid 
mill-pond, to try my luck in California, where I was told 
that fortunes awaited all, and where some overly sanguine 
individuals declared that every ton of earth contained 
three thousand pounds of gold. I did not then stop to 
inquire how many pounds constituted a ton in Califor- 
nia, but determined to hasten to the auriferous regions. 

I accordingly bid farewell to the adored one, packed 
my trunk, and took with me a miniature likeness of the 
charmer of my heart, and a long tress of golden hair. 
It may appear egotistical, my introducing the informa- 
tion that somebody cared for me, and that I was con- 
stant, when from the title of this sketch it would seem 
that the adventures of an entirely different person were 
to engross attention. But yet that miniature and that 
lock of silky hair play an important part in the history 
of my connection with the character of whom I write. 
For woman still, rules camp and court and grove, and 
who’s the man who does not love? 


— 4 — 


I went direct to San Francisco, where I soon suc- 
ceeded in getting a good position in a large hardware es- 
tablishment. I had been working there for some two 
years. Being frugal, I had accumulated a nice little 
sum, and was thinking of writing to the original of the. 
miniature and asking her to fly to my arms and make 
happy my lonely, wretched life. 

By way of parenthesis, I might remark that condition 
like mine is always described as “lonely and wretched,” 
and I am too new a hand at literary composition to break 
down the fence of custom with impunity. 

About this time, when I dreamed nightly of my loved 
one far away, and in my slumbers saw her at my side, in 
a happy home all our own — as long as I paid the rent — 
I happened to notice an advertisement in the Sacramento 
Record- Union. This stated that a foothill farm was for 
sale. Persors desirous of purchasing such a property 
were advised to address “D. B..” Auburn, immediately. 

Had I been at all suspicious I might have interpreted 
“D. B.” to mean “deadbeat.” I was not suspicious. I 
wrote “D. B.,” stating a desire to obtain such a place 
and asking particulars by return mail. 

Visions of a productive farm, nestling in some moun- 
tain valley — grassy meadows skirting the confines of low, 
rolling hills, over which at evening came the sounds of 
lowing herds, tinkling cow-bells and whistling cowboys — 
good cowboys — appeared to me, as I re-read the adver- 
tisement. When I went to bed, and, as usual, placed 
the tress of golden hair beneath my pillow, my thoughts 
wandered away from the hardware business, away from 
nails and spikes, picks and shovels, door knobs and bar 
iron; yea, wandered away, and the tress of hair seemed 
to grow longer and longer and still more long, till it lay 
like a streak of sunshine on the landscape, stretching 
over hill and dale, until it enclosed a little paradise of 
one hundred and sixty acres — my farm! 

The next mail brought no answer to my letter. I 
wondered at the delay. Perhaps I was too late and some- 
body else had invaded and taken possession of my prom- 
ised land. Two or three days — long-expectant days — had 
elapsed since I had written my letter. While I was busy 
showing a customer some burglar-proof padlocks, an 
elderly gentleman, dressed in a suit of custom-made 


— 5 — 


clothes, entered the store and was sent by another clerk 
to me. He waited until I was at leisure, and then 
handed me a card on which was printed 


Deuteronomy Brown. 


The name was unknown to me, and I intimated as 
much to the elderly gentleman. He asked if I had not 
answered an advertisement, and informed me he was 
“D. B.” 

Instantly I forgot all about burglar-proof locks. The 
long tress of golden hair seemed to wind around the 
elderly gentleman from the foothills and drew him into 
close fellowship with myself. 

He spoke in glowing terms of his farm. The land 
would raise anything except bread, for which yeast was 
still required. This seemed a pet joke with “D. B.,” 
accordingly I laughed. Water was abundant — clear 
mountain streams danced merrily adown the hillsides 
and sang songs of rejoicing as they sped along. The 
foothill fruits were celebrated. The means of getting 
them to market were not excelled. And the climate! — 
well, now, when you talked of climate that was where 
any one would have been charmed. Neither too hot 
nor too cold. None of your frigid mountain climates to 
chill the marrow in your bones. None of your semi- 
tropic business, where you lay around in swinging ham- 
mocks in a dolce far niente style year out and year in; 
but a climate with a snap and a zest in it — a climate just 
adapted to active young men, who want to be up and 
doing, ever striving, ever pursuing. 

The title was perfect. It came from the United 
States, and the United States seemed to be a legitimate 
squatter. There could be no adverse claimant. The 
only claimant — the Digger Indian — was dead. He died 
without heirs. 

I was pleased — in fact overjoyed — and closed a bar- 
gain at once. It would not do to risk losing such a 
desirable investment by delay. When I went to my 
lunch we went to a lawyer’s office and had the deed 
drawn up. The money was paid. I had invested all 
my savings, and was the happy possessor of a foothill 
farm, and my next neighbor was D. B. 


— 6 — 

I could hardly thank my friend enough for his kind- 
ness in letting me buy thfe property. I hardly knew how 
to address him. D. B. seemed too short and crisp, as it 
were; rather too familiar with such a generous individual. 
If I started in at Deuteronomy I was apt to forget his 
last name after traveling over such an extensive preface 
— was in danger of losing the thread of tne narrative, so 
to speak; and might run the risk of offending him by 
calling him Smith or Jones. But we managed to get on, 
nevertheless, as I compromised matters by styling him 
“my friend.” It was arranged that my benefactor should 
take charge of things for the present. I was to pass my 
vacation, which was not far distant, at my own place. 

I paid for the lunch, of course. I felt that I had grown 
fully six inches in height. I could say my place! I 
seemed to have a tendency to soar a little, and was in 
constant dread of hitting my head against the ceiling. 
So, in order to quiet my feelings and be safe, I found it 
necessary to carry a quantity of railroad spikes in my 
pockets by way of ballast. Still, I bowed my head every 
time I passed through a door. “My place!” Oh, joy 
of joys! 

The long days dragged slowly on, and the time for my 
vacation came at last. My happiness was supreme. The 
clerks spoke of my changed appearance, but did not 
suspect the cause. They knew nothing of my purchase. 
I could not tell them yet. I would get everything 
ready, and would then write to the original of the minia- 
ture, and she would fly to my arms. Then would I sever 
my connection with the hardware business. Then, and 
not till then, should they know all. Then would I intro- 
duce “my wife,” and tell them that I was going to live 
on “my farm!” 

I didn’t go to bed the night oefore my departure. I 
was to leave on the early train, and did not want to miss 
the cars. I got my things ready. I would take my gun, 
as D. B. said there was an abundance of game near my 
place. I also took a tape measure to measure the rooms 
for carpets. There was a house on my place. D. B. 
said it was a picturesque mountain home. I could alter 
it over a little, so as to make it suit my taste, for the 
house must be built to suit the man to make a true home. 
I could put on a wing here, and a bay window there, and 


a porch here, and year by year could build on more ad- 
ditions as my family increased. I blushed; but saw the 
beauty of his judgment. And as years rolled by there 
would be accretions to the old homestead, till it would 
he a priceless heirloom to hand down to generations yet 
unborn. Yes; I took a tape-measure! 

I was sorry “she” was not to be at my elbow to sug- 
gest and help me decide about carpets, and additions 
and all the little alterations. But I would do the best 
I could alone. I would not be alone long. 

I thought of one thing more, and went to a book 
store to get a book on “Home Decorations.” I went to 
a store where I was not known. I didn’t want anyone 
to suspect my happiness yet. I bought four books on 
“Home Decoration.” It would be wise to compare 
different authors’ ideas. I also bought two books on 
Architecture, as applied to country homes. The dealer 
thought it would be well for me to have two. I also 
purchased a work on “Landscape Gardening.” “Didn’t 
I want a cook-book?” “No, not yet.” 

I was at the depot three-quarters of an hour early. It 
is well to be early in going to trains. I bought papers 
of all the newsboys who came along. I was so happy. 
What was a little small change at a time like this, when 
I was going to my place? All my overcoat pockets were 
filled with morning papers, and I had a bundle of them 
in my hands also. After I got on the cars an elderly 
gentleman said to me: 

“Young man, I want a Chronicle !” I could not be 
angry with him for taking me for a newsboy. I was too 
happy, for I was going to my farm, and he was an elderly 
gentleman, about the same age, I judged, as my bene- 
factor, D. B. 

I never saw a train of cars run slower. I asked the 
conductor several times what the matter was. He an- 
swered “nothing” about twenty times, and then ceased 
to pay any attention to my questions. In my despera- 
tion I asked the brakeman. He replied “Nothing,” until 
he got to Sacramento, and after that he only came to the 
door of the car to call the names of stations, and slammed 
the door before I could interrogate him. I questioned 
all the passengers near me, till they either got out, or 
went into some of the other cars. Even the peanut boy 


— 8 — 


ceased to pass through that car after awhile. My happi- 
ness was so great that I was miserable. I doubt not I 
made others so. 

But at last we reached Schooner Gap and I got off. 
My place was about two miles beyond. I would have 
to walk that distance. Wha<- a relief to be on my feet. 
I inquired the way more as a means of letting people 
know I had a place than anything else. As the railroad 
passed through my land all I had to do was to walk 
along the track. 

It was nearly night when I reached “The Gap,” as 
this station is called in the neighborhood. Leaving my 
gun and valise with the ticket agent, who owned that 
portion of the railroad, I continued my pigrimage toward 
the Mecca of my hopes. It was a pleasant walk in the 
vanishing sunlight. Steep, pine-clad mountain slopes 
were growing dusky in the coming gloom. Meditating 
upon my farm, I wondered if it was on any of the side- 
hills I beheld. A wagon road was near the railroad 
track, on which I was walking, and the dust of a sum- 
mer’s accumulation rose in clouds as wagons passed. 
There were small houses here and there. These seemed 
to have been built before paint was invented, but ap- 
pearances are sometimes deceptive. I was surprised at 
the number of goats I saw. It must be a good country 
for goats. I have always had an idea that goats were 
about the last animals created, and that all the perversity 
on hand, after making hogs, was put into the travesties 
upon sheep. To avoid passing through a tunnel I had 
to take a narrow trail on a hill slope. The whole hillside 
was covered with rocks and brush, and in the middle of 
the trail stood a goat. He faced me, and evidently in- 
tended to continue to do so, and hold the trail. I tried 
to induce him to give way. No. I even informed him 
that I owned a farm near by; but that was of no avail. 
He looked at me as though he had not had the pleasure 
of meeting me before, and desired to know me should 
we meet again. I endeavored to convince him that it 
was impolite to stare at strangers, and not turn out. But 
he did not look at the matter in that light. So, at last, I 
left the trail, and stumbled over rocks and through brush 
till I had traveled around that goat. I thought it best to 
do so. It might teach him by example better manners. 


— 9 — 


After reaching the trail again, I looked back; the goat 
was deliberately walking up the hillside above the path. 
I was not angry at his goatship — merely annoyed, as I 
rubbed my bruised shins and felt rents in my clothes. 

It seemed I had gone far enough; so, seeing a house 
near the railroad track, I made my way over rocks and 
among brush to it, and inquired for Mr. Deuteronomy 
Brown. 

“Do ye want ter see that ould fraud?” asked a lady of 
Hibernian proclivities, in a shrill voice, that I estimated 
to be about 200 degrees above zero. 

“I would like to find Mr. Deuteronomy Brown,” I 
replied. 

“Be yez a sheriff?” 

“No, madam; I own a farm, and would like to find 
Mr. Brown.” 

“Ye owns a farm, does yez? Shure, an’ I’d never 
thought the loikes of ye owned a farm.” 

“Can you tell me where I will find Mr. Brown?” I 
asked again, rather angrily. 

“Shure, an’ 1 can; ye’ll find the ould fraud at home.” 

“But, where is that?” 

“Where he lives, av course.” 

“Certainly, madam; but where does he live?” 

“On the road to Cold-facts.” 

“Cold-facts? Oh, I presume you mean Colfax?” 

“Av course I do; faith, an’ didn’t I say that?” 

“But how far is it?” 

“Shure, an’ it’s about two miles, an’ if that’s all ye 
wanted why didn’t ye ax me at onst, an’ not kape me 
waitin’?” 

There was a peculiar expression in the lady’s eyes 
which caused me to think that perhaps I had better go 
on. So, I bade her adieu, and went back to the railroad 
track. 

After traveling some distance further I saw another 
house off to the left, and went there in search of infor- 
mation. 

“Does Mr. Deuteronomy Brown live here?” I asked of 
a tall, slabsided girl, who came to the door. 

“Mam!” she shouted in a Z sharp voice. 

“What?” answered another female voice. 

“Come here!” shouted the maiden in a higher key 


-lO- 


th an before, about a Z3 sharp. 

“What do you want?” came back from the interior of 
the house. 

“Come here quick!” 

“What on earth’s the matter with you?” 

“Here’s a man!” 

“Well, what of J:hat?” 

I had asked for Mr. Brown three times during the dia- 
logue, and from the latter portion of the girl’s remarks 
began to think I had reached my destination. 

“He’s a stranger!” continued the girl to the unseen 
female. 

“Where did he come from?” 

“Don’t know.” 

“Well, can’t you ask?” 

I volunteered the information that I journeyed from 
San Francisco, and asked again if Deuteronomy Brown 
lived there. 

“He says he came from San Francisco.” 

“Well, I’ll be there in a minute.” 

I waited fully a quarter of an hour, while there were 
mysterious sounds in the house, and while the mountain 
maiden at my side took an inventory of my clothing. I 
was tired, but there was no place to sit. I rested my 
" weight on one leg, and asked if Mr. Brown lived there; 
then changed the weight on the other leg, and asked 
where Mr. Brown lived. 

To my repeated questions the mountain siren an- 
swered: 

“Mam’ll be here pretty quick.” 

“Mam” at length arrived, and the delay was explained. 
She had changed her dress and combed her hair and 
powdered her face. How much other reconstruction she 
had undergone while I had been impatiently waiting I 
am not prepared to state. These alterations were self- 
evident. 

“How do you do, madam?” 

“How air ye, sir?” 

“Does Mr. Deuteronomy Brown live here?” 

“No, he don’t,” rather snappishly. 

“Can you tell me where he does live?” 

“I suppose I could,” still more snappishly. 

“Will you be so kind?” 


— 11 — 


“He lives up the road,” more snappishly than ever. 

“Can you tell me how far?” 

“I s’pose I could!” words bitten into fragments. 

“Cun I trouble you to do so?” 

“Ain’t got no time to bother ’bout no Browns!” 
words bitten into smaller fragments. 

“Will you kindly tell me how far it is to Mr. Brown’s?” 

“Two miles!!” verbal explosion — door slams — “mam” 
disappears — darkness reigns. 

Three things were evident. The Browns didn’t live in 
that house. They lived two miles further. (Mem.: — 
country people are not good judges of distances, as it 
was two miles from the house of the. Irish lady, which 
was at least a mile behind me, as well as two miles from 
the railroad station.) The ladies I had just talked with 
were not on friendly terms with the Browns. 

I went back to the railroad track. It was now quite 
dark. I was tired and was getting discouraged. Noth- 
ing but eagerness to get to my farm would urge me On. 

I followed the track until I thought I must be pretty 
near Omaha. I had given up all thought of finding 
Brown that night. I must be miles beyond his place. I 
was only looking for a house where I might stop for the 
night. Trudging along, I saw another light on the left. 
I decided to try my luck again. Experience had taught 
me a lesson. So I determined to use diplomacy, as I 
wanted a place to sleep, and did not want to ruin my 
prospects by inquiring for a family that did not seem 
popular. 

Fortunately a wagon road crossed the railroad track. 
I didn’t have brush and stones to contend against in 
going toward the house, where a flickering light was 
shining through the window. 

I reached the house and knocked. I was too tired to 
notice anything. 

A boy about fourteen came to the door. 

“May I ask who lives here?” 

“My father.” 

“Will you tell me his name?” 

“Deuteronomy Brown.” 

The name was music in my ears. It was like the 
sound of gurgling waters in a desert. It was soothing 
ointment to my bleeding spirits. 


— 12 


“Thank Heavens! At last!” I cried, as I almost sank 
to the floor. 

D. B. appeared with a lamp in his hand. “Ah, my 
young friend. Why, I hardly knew you. You look 
weary. You should have telegraphed me you were com- 
ing. Walk in; you are welcome.” He shook my hand 
as though I were a returned prodigal. 

“Did you see your house as you came along? You 
passed right by it. Splendid place. Not a foothill farm 
in the section like it. Almost regret I parted with it; 
still, this place will do. You look tired. Sit down and 
rest yourself. My wife will get you some supper. You 
must rest to-night, and in the morning we’ll go over your 
possessions. You will be pleased, delighted. It is a 
magnificent property. It will make you a splendid 
home.” 

I was not averse to resting. I had no desire to ex- 
amine my property till morning. I had walked far 
enough. After supper I began to feel strong enough to 
talk, and so told my host of my experiences. He'seemed 
very indignant. 

“My young friend,” he said, “you don’t want to mix 
with the low, gossiping element here. You w ill be sure 
to get into trouble if you do. We have nothing to do 
with them. No Irish for us, if you please. That is the 
way .they always do, We let them seveiely alone, and 
they won’t be even courteous to strangers who are look- 
ing for us. I hope this will be a lesson to you. It won’t 
do to have anything . to do with these gossips. Why, they do 
nothing but run around from house to house talking about 
their neighbors We are something better than the com- 
mon cattle around here, and we have found by sad expe- 
rience that it won’t do to mix with them. No sir,” 

My suspicions were confirmed. D. B. was not on 
friendly terms with his neighbors. But I was too tired 
to care about his neighbors. I fear I cared but very 
little about D. B. I was so weary that I even almost 
forgot what a benefactor to me he had been in giving 
me a chance to buy that fine farm adjoining his. 

I was soon in my bed and asleep. Sleeping, I 
dreamed. But, oh, what dreams! Again the long tress 
of golden hair encircled my 160 acres of paradise. I 
saw the original of the miniature at my side, and we were 


— 13 — 


sitting under a fig tree whispering words of love; then we 
seemed to be measuring for carpets; then we went out in 
front of the house, and I took a spade and dug a deep 
hole, and we planted the books on home decoration and 
landscape gardening, and then the fig tree seemed to 
change into something very like a thistle, and then the 
dear, sweet face by my side grew wrinkled and fierce, 
and it looked like the goat that disputed the trail with 
me, and as I looked more intently the face changed 
again and I thought it was the face of Deuteronomy 
Brown, and as I turned uneasily on my pillow I thought 
I heard him say, ‘You must have nothing to do with the 
gossips;” and then all faded away. I might have slept 
till noon had not D. B. considerately called me. We 
breakfasted and I was ready to survey my possessions. 

D. B. and I started out, and as we went along he 
spoke in glowing terms of my place. He showed me 
the beautiful flowers blooming in his yard, the young 
fruit trees that would bear next year, and the fine spring 
of clear, cold water. 

“Now, my young friend, here we are; this is your 
southwest corner; the line runs up by my fence and over 
that hill, and takes in that fine manzanita bush on the 
brow of the hill. That is the finest bush of its kind 
around here. The whole hill slope was covered with 
these magnificent bushes. It was a beautiful sight; but 
somebody started a fire and they were all destroyed. I 
think it was some of those gossips. I had great difficul- 
ty in saving my fence — in fact it was burned in places. 
Now all your manzanita bushes are gone; but there is no 
small loss wifhout a gain, if you look at it in a philo- 
sophical way. " You won’t have to clear the land. There 
is your house down there by the road, and behind it is 
the orchard. Just walk down and see the trees. See 
what a beautiful location for a home, right by the road, 
and all the hillslope for a background. The house used 
to be a hotel; that is why it is so near the road. There 
is the apple orchard — the oldest orchard around here.” 

So he went on describing one thing after another. I 
walked in silence. There was the beautiful hill slope. 
It was a hill slope sure enough. There was the hill and 
there the slope, and there were rocks; not one solid mass 
of rock, of course, that would have been useful had I 


— 14 — 


wanted to start a granite quarry; no, by no means a 
solid slope of rock, but just big granite bowlders, from 
the size of a man to that of a railroad car, standing 
around sort of negligent like, but standing on my land. 

I walked toward the house. The doors and windows 
were gone. The building stood even with the road. If 
I laid out a front yard I would have to go back of the 
house to do so. The house was large, but part of the 
roof was gone. My first addition, would have to be 
doors, windows and a roof. I walked through the house. 
I would have to build a new floor. 1 ere had been a 
bannister on the stairs, but it had become tired of waiting 
for some one to use it, and had gone off some where. 
The house had been papered once, but the paper was 
mostly torn off. The cloth lining on which the paper 
had been fastened was gone from many of the rooms. 

I went into the apple orchard. My mind was so pre- 
occupied that I did not say a word to D. B. I looked 
at the orchard. There were a few uncared-for trees that 
looked weary of waiting so long for some one to come 
and prune them. One tree had a few blossoms on it. 
I picked one and held it in my hand, lost in thought. 

’Tis but a little fragrant flower; 

But, oh, how very dear; 

I press it in my clenched hand, 

And wish the fruit were here. 

This was my place U This was my 'house! This was 
my orchard! This was the reality I had dreamed about 
for days! These were the rooms I was to measure for 
carpets! These the walls to decorate! That the place 
for the landscape garden! There the trees ground which 
I was to build up a fruit farm! And all the books 
I had bought to aid me in these matters and the 
tape line were in my valise at “ The Gap.” This was 
the home I had thought of by day and dreamed of by 
night! This the place I was going to rebuild to make a 
fit abiding place for the original of the miniature! 
This was the fine foothill farm my benefactor D. B. had 
been so kind to let me buy before anyone else snatched 
it away! 

I felt sad. 

I turned to speak to D. B., but he was not there. 1 
passed back through the house; he was not there. I 


— 15 — 


went back to his house; he was not there. His wife told 
me he had been hastily called to Colfax, and had not 
had time to say good-bye, but he would be back by night. 
He had left word that he did not want to disturb my 
meditations as I examined my place. He thought I 
would be occupied during the day in planning changes 
and improvements, and had wanted me to feel perfectly 
at home. 

I walked around. I examined my place more care- 
fully. I was looking for any land that might not have 
become mixed up with the rocks. I glanced over the sur- 
rounding country. There certainly was no place like 
mine any where around; D. B. had told me so. He 
spoke the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the 
truth. I had all the rocks in sight. Those rocks must 
have called a convention and gone on my place to hold 
it. There was a pretty fair fence around the place. I 
had paid D. B. for repairs on the fence when I bought 
the place. As I was taking a walk around my farm I 
met an intelligent young man. I hesitated to speak to 
him" at first, fearing he might be one of the gossips; but I 
must talk to some one; I wanted information, and D. B. 
had been called away unexpectedly. 

The young man and I became quite well acquainted. 
I told him my experience. He did not seem surprised. 
He only said: 

“Old D. B. — we call him ‘Deadbeat’ around here — 
has done you up. He has been trying to sell that part 
of his place for two years. He lived in the house awhile 
and then built the one where you slept last night. He 
took the doors and windows and stair railing and every- 
thing else he could to use in his new house. I think he 
even took the cotton off the walls to use under the paper 
in his new house. I saw him move the pump. He had 
a young orchard, but took up all the trees he could 
move. ” 

“I will prosecute him for taking my property,” I inter- 
rupted. 

“When did you buy the place?” 

“Three weeks ago.” 

“Well, you can’t do anything about that. He took all 
these things last fall.” 

“But I will proseente him for selling me such a place.” 


— 16 — 


“What good will that do? You say he told you there 
wasn’t another place like it in the country, didn’t you?” 

“His very words ” 

“Well, there isn’t. This is the poorest land, has the 
most rocks, and generally speaking is the very worst place 
you can find in Placer county. You should have exam- 
ined it before buying.” 

I thought the matter over. I had nothing to do but 
accept a bad bargain. 

“Tell you what I’ll do,” said my new acquaintance. 
“I’ve got a lot of goats. I’ll pasture them on your land, 
and when the feed gets short you can bet your boots 
they will get over old D. B.’s fence and eat things there.” 

“It’s a go,” I said; I was in a revengeful mood. 
“Pasture your goats on my place as long as you want. 
Get all the goats you can. Borrow some if you haven’t 
enough. Fill up all the space between the rocks with 
goats. Here, I will write you an authority to use my 
place till I want it.” 

I did so. We parted. I did not wait to say good- 
bye to D. B. What was the use? I walked back to the 
railroad station. On the way I met the old goat that had 
disputed the path with me the night before. He recog- 
nized me and quietly stepped one side to let me pass. 
As he did so I thought I noticed a smile on his face. 




V 







